A Lantern in the Window
by TheMadMistress
Summary: Kristoff was too young to be on his own. But then again, he wasn't really alone. An orphan, but not alone.


The girls had fallen asleep in a pile around their oldest sister, who had fallen asleep sitting straight up in the bed. An old, battered book was open on her lap, and a candle had nearly burned out on the nightstand. Their mother picked up the book and set it beside the candle before she set to work on rearranging her daughters so that everyone could sleep comfortably.

The oldest, no more than ten, grumbled as she was gently led into lying down. She immediately fell back to sleep once the strong, warm hands of their mother had pulled the blankets up over them.

Inga looked over the five girls with an affectionate smile. Oh, but how she adored them. She did not know what she would do without them.

Another blanket was taken from the wooden chest at the foot of the wide bed and spread over them, and then Inga finally blew out the candle and left the room. There was not a proper door for the room, which was for the best. Extra heat could reach them from the blazing hearth of the kitchen.

The winter had been fairly mild but was reluctant to cede to spring. There had only been one warm day in the last seven though May would soon be upon them. That one day of false promises of warmth and sunshine had caused every child in the countryside to catch a cold.

That was what had brought the poor little Bjorgman boy to her home. Unfortunately it was not what kept him there.

Inga looked over to the thick pallet of blankets and furs near the hearth where a sixth little figure lay, sleeping soundly despite the turn his life had taken. An ache cut through her heart at the sight of him. They did not have a spare bed for the boy, but she had done her best to make sure he was comfortable.

She crossed the room, knelt beside him, and pressed the back of her hand to his cheek. He was warm, but instead of from fever it was from his nearness to the fire. She rose to tug his pallet back from the hearth enough to ensure that he neither rolled into the embers nor sweated while he slept.

The sound of boots on the porch made her look towards the front door. A gleam of light shone under the crack of the door. It vanished as quickly as it had appeared, and the door swung open not a moment after it had.

Her stomach clenched at the grim look that pinched her husband's features.

"Anything?" she greeted in a whisper.

Bjorn grunted and closed the door behind him. "Nothing."

Tears stung the backs of her eyes as she turned her gaze back to the sleeping boy. For three days they had been looking for his parents. Three fruitless days.

"Poor Kristoff."

Inga tamped down her sorrow as best as she could. There was no easy way to lose a parent, but this… He would never know. Never get to say goodbye.

"How is he?" Bjorn asked.

He had crossed the room to sit in the spindly chair at their only table. His extinguished lantern had been hung on a hook by the door next to his thick fur coat. While he waited for his wife to answer, he leaned to pull off his boots.

"Better for the time being. His fever broke."

"Good."

"What are we going to do, Bjorn?"

"What do you mean?"

"With Kristoff."

Bjorn looked up and to the soundly sleeping boy. For a long while he said nothing. Simply stared. Inga was going to chide him for his silence when he finally responded.

"We'll ask him in the morning," he said. "He's old enough to decide."

Inga scowled. "Old enough, Odin's beard! He's a child."

"And he'll be a man before long. Best he learn to think for himself before then."

"But-"

"Inga, when I was his age I worked full time with my father harvesting ice."

She folded her arms beneath her bosom and started hard at the man she had shared her life with for the last decade.

"But you still had your father. He has no one left in this world."

"Woman, he'll have us," he replied, frowning in turn. "D'ya think I'm just going to turn him out into the cold alone?"

"It sounded like it."

"Well, I'm not. I'm just saying that we can't hold him hostage here if he doesn't want to stay."

Her shoulders relaxed, but she did not drop her arms. Slowly, she drew closer to her husband, who reached out to grasp her waist once she was close enough. Only then did she let go of herself to reach to take off his hat, and to twist a lock of his beard about her fingertip.

"But we will watch over him." There was no question in the words. Only a statement that her tone dared him to refute.

Bjorn smiled up to her. "Of course."

* * *

"_Are you certain that you don't wish to stay, Kristoff? You'd not be any trouble to have."_

"_I'm very thankful of the offer, but I really should get home. Mamma and Pappa might come home and worry that I'm not there."_

Inga heaved a sigh and shifted the weight of the basket she held. She had not wanted to let Kristoff leave, but when asked what he wished to do he told them that he wanted to go home. Bjorn had taken him back to his house the day before.

The walk to the Bjorgman farm was not a long one. Little more than a quarter hour down the winding road that led from the village of Haldor to the town of Valdis. A trip from one to the other took the better part of the day, but the countryside between the two was peppered with farms and cottages.

A dirt lane broke away from the main road and led up to the edge of a dense forest that backed the Bjorgman house. Like her own, it was neither large nor impressive. But she knew that a family needed neither to make a home a happy one, and she had never known anyone happier than her childhood friends.

Her heart ached at the thought of them. Of tall, handsome Morten and sweet, clever Sofia. Kristoff was equal parts of both of them, which only served to make Inga more protective of him.

She could see a thin stream of smoke winding up to the sky from the cottage's chimney. The front door stood wide open, allowing Kristoff to sweep the dust and dirt from inside out onto the front yard. He paused at the threshold and wiped his brow on the back of his sleeve.

"Good morning, Kristoff," she called out to him.

The boy straightened to see who had shouted. A wide grin broke across his face at the sight of her. He waved with an exuberance that wriggled his whole body and never toppled him.

"Good morning!"

"How are you getting alone?"

"Very well so far. Do you need any help with your basket?"

Inga smiled. "No, but I thank you. Have you had any breakfast yet?"

"Not yet. I've been working on tidying the house. Mamma always hates when it's not clean."

"Well, come take a break. I've brought you some things that should hold you over on food for the next few days. I did not know if you had enough in your larder to keep you."

Kristoff leaned his broom against the closest wall and rushed to meet her halfway. Curiosity had overridden his manners, much as it did with her own children.

They had not quite reached the front door when a mournful noise reached their ears.

"What was that?" Kristoff asked, looking from Inga towards the woods.

The noise sounded again, and Inga strained to recognize it.

"It almost sounds like a baby reindeer."

"Really?"

"I think so."

Kristoff bolted away from her before she could say anything else. She left the basket of food by the door before hurrying after him.

The underbrush snagged her skirt time and again. How had he managed to maneuver it so easy? Because he was a good nineteen younger than her, that's how.

"Kristoff?" she called, grasping her skirt off yet another bramble.

"Over here!" His shout was followed up by another bleat.

After what seemed to be an endless battle, Inga finally made it to where Kristoff knelt next to a particular nasty tangle of brambles. As she had expected, a small gangly reindeer was the cause of all the noise. He was caught in the bush and his frantic struggling had done nothing but get him cut by the vicious thorns.

"Can you get him out?"

Inga looked to Kristoff, unsure of whether she could or even if the calf would survive its injuries. Who knew how long it had been trapped there. Her gaze fell to his hands before she could speak, and a thrill of panic made her throat constrict.

His hands bore the same deep gashes as the reindeer. His small palms were bright red and only growing darker as he continued to bleed. She reached to untie the apron she wore over her skirt, and then pressed it into his palms.

"Keep a hold of that," she instructed him. "Tight, tight."

Disentangling the reindeer calf was no easy task. She swore in the back of her mind each time one of the thorns jabbed her. By the time she had freed him her hands were as bloody as Kristoff's.

The reindeer stumbled when he was first free to walk again. He was very old, far from being completely mature. Inga looked about for a trace of his mother and found none. Where had he come from?

"Will you help me get him back to the house?" Kristoff asked. "He looks sick, and you're good at fixing sick stuff."

Inga looked to the boy with a soft smile. Of all the worries he had in the world, his primary one concerned a lost, lone reindeer.

"Of course."

She gathered the calf up in her arms with ease. After all, he was not quite old enough to be a problem to carry, and she had done the same thing a hundred times in her childhood, back when her parents had kept a small herd. Kristoff hurried ahead of her to try and pull back the briars and underbrush so she had a clear path to walk.

When they reached the cottage she instructed him to grab the basket she had abandoned and to bring it inside before it could attract other animals. He set it on the kitchen table as she closed the door with her foot.

"Stoke the fire," she told him, moving to put the reindeer down near the hearth. "And bring me any old blankets that you have."

* * *

Inga stood by the kitchen table, wiping her hands on her apron and watching the pair near the fire. The little reindeer, Sven was what Kristoff kept calling him, was curled up sleeping on a pile of blankets. Kristoff sat next to him, gently stroking the fur of his neck.

She had patched Sven up to the best of her abilities, and had even succeeded in getting him to eat and drink a little. Tomorrow morning would decide if he lived or not. If he made it through the night he should be fine. She prayed that he would.

"Are you certain that you wouldn't like to come stay with us?" she asked.

Kristoff shook his head. "No, thank you. I don't want to wake Sven up."

"If you're certain. I put the food in the larder for you. And brought fresh water in."

"Thank you."

The boy grew quiet for a long moment. His shoulders were tense as he stared into the flames that danced in the fireplace. Inga wrapped her shawl about her shoulders and turned towards the door to leave. She stopped only when he spoke again.

"Do you think Mamma and Pappa will ever come back?"

Inga felt tears sting the backs of her eyes. What she would have given to be able to give him an absolute answer.

"I don't know," she replied honestly. "But I hope so."

His shoulders slumped, drawn down by the weight of a world too big to be borne by such a small boy. He shifted to lie down next to Sven, and draped an arm across the little reindeer. She could hear his sniffles from where she stood.

"It's just me and you, Sven," he whispered.

Sven stirred and Kristoff hugged him tightly. To her surprise, the reindeer did not protest. Instead he licked the boy's cheek.

She left after that. She could not bear to stay.

* * *

Sven made it through the night, and by the end of the week he was up and romping about with no trouble. He took to people easily, but he was most loyal to Kristoff. He trailed after the boy like a dog. By the end of the fortnight he had started to put on weight and muscle.

"Do you think he's big enough to pull a little sled?" Bjorn asked his wife.

Inga looked up from the carrots she had been slicing over a kettle of water by the hearth. "Do you mean the reindeer?"

"Perhaps. So long as there isn't too much weight on the sled. Why do you ask?"

"I'm going to start taking the boy to harvest ice with me."

Her brows darted up, surprised by the suggestion.

"And you're going to get him a sled?" she asked.

Bjorn nodded. "Rather, give him that one in the shed. We've five girls already. If you were to birth another child tomorrow, I'd bet money that it'd be another girl. Not that I'd mind any. But the lad needs to start learning a trade if he's to live on his own."

"I think it is wonderful idea."

* * *

Bjorn worked with Kristoff and Sven every evening for a month. He taught the boy how to harness the reindeer to the little sledge and how to maintain all of his equipment. When he was confident that they were in a shape to start working, he had the boy follow him and the other ice harvesters to learn their ways.

Kristoff was a quick learner. He knew the names of the tools after two days, and the names of the men after three.

To begin with, the men were wary of having the kid work with them. Some claimed he would get in the way, and others said he'd get hurt. They were reluctant, but after that first week they had warmed to the presence of the kid and the reindeer both. They admired how he did not give up and that he did not shy away from any challenge or task. He was a self sufficient child that never complained or whined.

"_Do you need help with that, lad?" _

"_Thank you, but I've got it."_

Every morning Kristoff hitched Sven to his sledge and then waited for Bjorn at the end of the lane that led to his house. Every morning for three months, the boy was never late.

Bjorn's stomach knotted when he reached the fork in the road and there was no sign of Kristoff. No footprints, no hoofprints, and no marks to show that a sled had passed through.

The night before had been the first time in three months that he had not walked Kristoff to his house. The kid insisted that he could make it home on his own, and Bjorn had been exhausted. He had only wanted to get home to a hot meal and his warm bed.

He half-walked, half-jogged down the lane towards the Bjorgman cottage. The knot in his gut tightened all the more as he drew closer. There was no light spilling out from the windows, no smoke rising from the chimney.

"Kristoff?" Bjorn hit the front door with a heavy hand as he called for the boy. "Kristoff, are you here?"

When no response came, he moved to peer into the darken window. Nothing stirred. Staying calm was no small feat, and the longer he searched for any sign that Kristoff had been there in the last day, the more frantic he became.

Bjorn ran the whole way to the meeting place of the ice harvesters. He was out of breath when he got there.

"The boy's gone," he told them.

A chorus of "What?" and "When?" met his words. Their faces looked as panicked as he felt.

Bjorn told them that he had let Kristoff go home alone, that he had searched the boy's house for any trace of him. He told them that he worried the boy had tried to cut through the woods and had gotten lost.

There was not much discussion before they decided to forgo work to look for him.

No one found anything. He had vanished as completely as his parents had.

Inga lit the lantern and set it in the windowsill. It had become a nightly ritual for her for leave a light in the window after she had served dinner and cleaned up the dishes. She always lingered by it, as though the simple act would summon the child she left it for.

"My love, I don't think he's coming back," Bjorn said gently.

He approached her from behind and wrapped his arms about her shoulder. Despite his words, he looked out the window too. Hoping with all he was that Kristoff would ride into the yard on his sled, Sven pulling him all the way.

The ice harvesters had given up the search after the first night. They had work to do and families to feed. Bjorn did his day labor as well, but as soon as they were dismissed, he had headed into the woods to seek out Kristoff. He had stopped searching when he started going mad from the desperate searches.

No one knew that he had started hearing things in the woods. That he had heard a child laughing and people singing. That he had heard the rocks whisper to one another. Not even Inga knew.

Inga lifted a hand to rest against his arm as she leaned back against him.

"I don't think so either," she whispered. He could hear the tears in her voice. "But I can't let him think we've forgotten him if he does."

* * *

The girls were all speaking over one another in a rapid rush that Inga could not follow. She tried to focus on any one voice above another, and with a shout she demanded silence. Turning towards her eldest daughter, she motioned for her to speak.

"Princess Anna of Arendelle is getting married!"

Inga smiled. "Well, that's lovely. Is there a notice in the town square?"

The youngest daughter nodded. "It's all anyone can talk about. She's marrying a commoner!"

"Love doesn't abide classes, sweetling. I'm glad she was able to choose someone to make her happy."

"There's going to be a big wedding in the spring."

"And who is the lucky groom? Did anyone say?"

"He's an ice harvester, Mamma," one of the middle girls chimed in.

Another nodded and added, "His name is Kristoff."

Inga did not hear anything else that her daughters said. Her own mind had shut them out to consider what she already knew. Was it possible that it was their Kristoff that princess intended to marry? Was that where he had been all these years? In Arendelle?

The kingdom on the fjord was little more than a two day ride from their home, but no one in the surrounding area ever went there. Valdis was much closer and provided everything that the country folk needed. He could have easily been living there for the last fifteen years without anyone who knew him ever being the wiser.

"Mamma, are you okay?"

Inga nodded, and dabbed at her eyes with the corner of her apron. A weight had been pried from her chest, and for the first time in over a decade she could breathe easily.

* * *

When Bjorn came home that evening, Inga told him what the girls had relayed to her. He listened impassively as she spoke of princesses and a kingdom on the other side of the mountains. There was no interest in the speculation of what a royal wedding would be like.

"They say the man she intends to marry is an ice harvester?"

That piqued his interest only the slightest bit. He did not look up from removing his boots, but he did respond.

"Is that so?"

"It is. They say his name is Kristoff."

Bjorn grew so still that he seemed frozen. Deliberately, he turned his head after several long moments and looked up to his wife. In all the years that she had known him, she had never seen him wear that expression before. He almost looked as though he wanted to weep.

"Our Kristoff?" His voice was little more than whisper. The sound broke her heart.

How many nights had she listened to him rail against himself, eaten alive by his own guilt?

"Our Kristoff."

Reaching out, she stroked her fingers through his gingery hair and pulled him close. He wrapped his arms about her waist and rested his forehead against her chest. Neither of them said anything. Inga just continued to stroke his hair, and Bjorn continued to hold her. She could feel his tears seep through her blouse.

That night the lantern sat cold in the window for the first time in fifteen years. There was no need for it to burn any longer.

The boy had finally found his way home.


End file.
